


6'2"

by Ellimac, FatalCookies



Series: It's a Natural Life [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-03-11 03:09:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3311690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellimac/pseuds/Ellimac, https://archiveofourown.org/users/FatalCookies/pseuds/FatalCookies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A human AU involving pop music, candy bars, and wide gaps in socioeconomic status.</p>
            </blockquote>





	6'2"

First thing you need to know about Gabriel Novak-Milton is that he’s savvy. He knows what’s up. And he isn’t a dang knucklehead, not for anybody, any-how.

\--

Well, okay, that’s not _quite_ true.

There’s family. Sure, he mocks them plenty, ducks out of picking sides and stays mostly out of fraternal bickering. Mike’s a prick, Raf is a walking stick-up-her-ass, and Luce’s fond nickname is dickbag. Dad has flaked on holiday get-togethers for the last twenty years and hasn’t called for the last eighteen. But… even with all that, Gabriel shows up to every family reunion, and then some. Much as he hates petty squabbling, if something honestly _bad_ happens, he is the first to call, and usually the first to show up. It isn’t glaringly obvious, perhaps, but the fact of the matter is, Gabriel fights tooth and nail—like hell—to keep the family from falling to pieces. And when he runs, it’s for his own sanity, because no matter what he tries he seems doomed to fail.

There’s the twins, too: Anna, who, bless her little heart, got in the family’s bad graces when she ran away from home and started living with a professional dominatrix. She’s his baby sister the fallen angel, the little girl who was always the best of both worlds, down-to-earth seriousness and faintly rebellious, cool like Mom and independent like Dad. Gabriel’s the only one of the older kids who still talks to her, and he’ll defend her to the death.

Her, and Cas, who is sometimes Cassie, seriously Castiel—his baby brother and the light of his life. For any of his brothers, in a crisis, Gabriel leaves work and takes calls from wherever he’s headed off to. For Cas, he tells work to fuck the hell off and shuts down his cell phone. For his baby brother, Gabe can put his entire world on hold.

There’s also certain significant others and special friends, over the years. Gabriel’s had more dates and flings than he can count, but as to partners that make both the romantic and sexual cuts, the ones he gets attached to—those ones, he gets foolish about. The ones he keeps as friends rank up in the same way.

Cake. Oh, but Gabriel has done some ridiculous things in the name of cake. There are photographs on a locked phone, an embarrassingly large recipe book that took him all of one year to work through. Then there was the incident at Christmas when he dragged Lucie through Barcelona for eleven hours straight in search of an open pastelería…

Yeah. Can’t forget about the cake.

\--

So, there is precedent. There’s a few things he’s pretty knuckle-headed about. Not an extensive list or anything, but enough that he probably should have seen it coming.

Then again, when it comes to the Winchester boys—who _can_ see it coming?

\--

Ha ha, _coming_.    

\--

Anyway.

Backtracking.                        

\--

“—tap-dancing Christ on a pogo stick,” Gabriel said, shutting off his phone with a too-firm finger. He had been power-walking since he got out of his car and only began to slow once he caught sight of Cas. “Do you have any idea what you put me through, kid? I blew a gasket back there, Margie’s gonna have my neck for dropping her right before a meeting.”

“You didn’t have to come,” Cas murmured.

“ _Bullcrap_.” Gabriel pulled Cas into his arms and squeezed tight. “You should have called me the second the old Bentley broke down. Hell, you should have had someone come pick it up—”

“I did have it picked up.”

“By someone _private_ , Cassie, someone who would _take you_ somewhere that didn’t look and smell like that oil spill they had out in the Pacific. And where you could pick up a rental.”

Castiel blinked, a small frown settling on his lips. It made him look, as it often did, faintly confused. “I wasn’t yet certain it would be necessary.”

“Who said anything about _necessary_ , it would’ve been easy.”

“You have said many a time that easy—”

“—isn’t always the way to go, yeah, I know. But that’s _me_ I’m talking about, and I don’t mind a little nitty-gritty. You, on the other hand, are a delicate flower. You, baby brother, you might just get your feelings hurt.” He smiled, letting Cas in on the joke, pat his shoulder, and gently guided him towards the counter. “And it’s nice to have the option. Especially when you need to get up and go, Cas, no one likes to have interruptions when trying to get from A to B.”

This time, Cas seemed to stare without blinking. Another habit of his. “The interruption was inevitable.”

“Yeah, yeah, say it don’t spray it.”

“I wasn’t—”

“And that’s the other thing,” Gabriel said before his brother could take him literally, “I may need a photo to commemorate this. You. In here.” Gabriel briefly considered style versus contamination; the former won out and he leaned on the counter, weight on his elbow and hip cocked. “I’ve got to say, faded paint and grease marks on the floor? Not your color, Cas.”

This time, Castiel almost cracked a smile. “I have no intention of wearing the shop, Gabriel.”

“It might sneak up on you,” Gabriel said, as he inspected a smear on the countertop through which he had nearly tracked his elbow. “So—any verdict yet?”

Cas, never much one for lounging, maintained his ramrod-straight posture. “Could be an hour, could be a week,” he repeated, the same mantra he had recited over the phone when he’d asked if Gabriel could pick him up, in case of the latter scenario. Gabriel frowned.

“And how long ago did they feed you that line?”

“An hour ago.”

“Well, there goes your first option.” Gabriel straightened up some. “And no news since? That’s a pretty wide range they gave you there, Cassie. You sure these wazoos know what they’re doing?”

A voice cleared behind Gabriel, then. Gabriel blinked, smiled at his brother’s open mouth and widening eyes, and turned to the man in a grey, oil-stained jumpsuit behind him.

“Hel-lo,” Gabe said, cheerfully unperturbed. “Hey, I’ve got a question: do you know what you’re doing?”

Castiel promptly grabbed Gabriel’s arm, and inserted himself between his brother and—a quick glance at the name patch on his uniform—Dean. “I’m sorry,” he said. Gabriel barely resisted the urge to chime in, sing-song happily, _I’m not_. “We’re merely,” Castiel haltingly explained, “anxious for news.”

“Right. ’Course,” said Dean, grinning a grin that was perfectly pleasant, and had the look of a man who had more than a little practice with decking assholes. Gabriel liked him immediately. “Well, she’s showing some wear under the hood, could probably use some fresh oil and transmission fluid. But it’s your timing belt that’s busted all to hell. They say you ought t’change ‘em every sixty thousand miles with one of these interference engines. Me, I go for fifty and stay on the safe side. Otherwise, it’ll wreck your valves, and—sure enough.” Dean shrugged demonstratively, turning his eyes down to a clipboard on the counter.

Gabriel tried to pass his brother a look, a smirk—told you so, see? It was a fine question, and he would’ve passed anyway, good for him knowing his cars—but Cas was looking at the mechanic with intent eyes. Good old Cassie, good listener. Mr. Dean pulled a rag from over his shoulder, rubbing the greasy black smears off of his skin.

“I’m going to need to order the new parts,” he said “which, uh, means you’re lookin’ into next week before you get your ride back, sorry to say.”

“It was not your fault,” Cas reassured him.

Dean lifted his eyes to look at Cas’ straight, unwavering gaze. The usual exchange: Cas says words, other person gives him a look, tries to figure out if he’s being serious or shitting them. It’s a seventy five-twenty five thing, straight answer to scathing remark. And it really is that, more than screwing with people; Cas has the charming habit of calling out stupidity when he sees it. That most people couldn’t tell the difference between the straight answer and sarcasm was their own dang problem.

Dean looked at Cas, and Cas looked at Dean. Gabriel smiled just in case anyone looked to _him_ , just to let them all know that, yes, this is normal, and swear to god if you try to make funny amirite faces about my brother I will make sure you trip on your way back to your garage, bucko.

Neither of them _did_ look at him, though. Instead, Mr. Dean whistled quietly— _huh_ —and turned his eyes back down to the paper. Cas abruptly followed suit and turned his eyes down to the counter, in turn. Gabriel lifted his brows and said nothing.

“Right,” Dean said. “So. We’ve got your number, we’ll call if there’s anything else that comes up. And I’ll give you a ring when we get the part in.”

“I appreciate it,” Cas said.

“Right,” Dean said again, a little too quickly, and by this time, Gabriel grinned from ear to ear. “Then, uh, expect a call from us, and we’ll get your car back to you in no more than a week.”

Gabriel pat Cas’ shoulder firmly enough to make him sway. “Looks like I’m driving you to work, kiddo. Join me when you’re ready, I’ll be waiting outside, mm?”

Castiel gave him a look. Gabriel waggled his eyebrows. Dean made a tiny noise that sounded suspiciously like clearing one’s throat, or maybe like choking on denial.

Which was how Gabriel ended up sweeping out of the building, leaving his baby brother space and time to work out finances. (Dear thing always hated to talk money around people, and only after years of practice did he manage, now, to get through the ordeal with cashiers and clerks. Minimized audience was always preferable.) And five minutes later, when Castiel exited the shop and flew by Gabriel’s pointed look, after they both climbed in, buckled up—first thing, Gabriel set his hands on the wheel and announced, “So… he was cute.”

“You would know better than I,” Cas said, looking forward.

Gabe pursed his lips and shrugged ascent. “Sure, but it wasn’t me he was taking a gander at.”

“We’re late,” Cas said, and, well, that was that. Gabriel sighed a heavy, dramatic sigh—trust Cassie to pay it no mind, not even a look his way, and if that wasn’t _comforting_ somehow—kicked the car in reverse, and got them going.

\--

That was how Cas met Dean, who would become his boyfriend.

That was a year ago.

\--

And about eight months ago, Gabriel was giving a guest lecture at the business school, and stopped by the law school for lunch due to rumors about a bakery that specialized in novelty chocolates, macarons, and petit fours. And while on his way _there_ , he passed by a young gentleman standing on the quad who was tall as a beanstalk and all kinds of lanky-in-the-right-places.

Gabriel, intrigued, had veered straight off the sidewalk.

“Whoop,” he said, catching the young man’s attention while his hand reached into his left back pocket, for his phone. “Hang on a sec. Can I get a picture with you?”

“Uh,” the young man said. Obliging kid, though; even as he bowed down, putting his head closer to level with Gabriel’s as he held his arm out for a selfie, he asked, “Sorry—why?”

“Because, mister, you are cute. O-kay—smile!” he had replied, oh-so matter-of-fact, and snapped the picture. He flipped it around to peek: perfect. “There we go. Thanks dude. Have a good one.”

And Gabriel had grinned, given his arm an amiable slap, and walked away.

He didn’t spare it a second thought.

\--

That same day, Gabriel also used his phone to take a picture of a four-layer vanilla-lemon cake. Slice as wide as the length of his thumb. It was delicious.

\--

He would not meet Sam Winchester again for some time. He wasn’t concerned about the fact. At that moment, he didn’t even know Sam Winchester’s name.

For the next few weeks, Sam was “that cute kid at the law school the size of a honkin’ ol’ moose,” later shortened down to “that moose kid.” His photograph in Gabriel’s phone had an honorary place that it would occupy for about a month’s time, while the image was new, fresh, and full of possibility.

\--

People _need_ new things in their lives. Variety, surprises, glimpses of the great wide world, all that biz. They need new things, and they need pretty things, and happy reminders, too. They need happenstance and serendipity and good things out of the blue.

If you can supply a steady stream of happy things, it just means you have a buffer for the bad days.

In a recipe of ways to be happy, ranking pretty high up on the list is “jam-packing your days with little tiny happy things.”

\--

Another primary ingredient in the happiness concoction is not being a complete jerkface. Which sounds like it should be easy but, as it turns out, being a royal butthead can be as simple as never having the decency to ask yourself, _am_ I _a butthead?_

The problem with privilege is that those who have it don’t see those who sit on the other side of it. People who blow through the express lanes in airports don’t think about who gets frisked or why. People who _have_ don’t question why other people lack.

Perhaps it was Dad’s work in all those mysterious and far-away humanitarian efforts that gave him the sneaking suspicion there was something out there in the world, something more than the small elite circle and the preppy private schools he could have walked in, rolled in, and never ever had to peer out of. Maybe it was the fact that, growing up, he was the odd one out. Maybe it’s because of that, but the fact of the matter is, Gabriel sees gates. He has always been able to, for as long as he can remember.

And so, in the interest of expanding horizons and not being an ignorant douche, Gabriel attended public university. And he made friends with everyone, and delighted in people talking shit about him. Some of it _was_ shit, and some of it picked up on rather poignant truths. They laughed and he laughed with them. Casual affluence became a joke until it couldn’t be casual anymore. At least not always, not without some critical thinking attached.

Which, really, was just the way he wanted it.

\--

Nobody is _perfect_. Gabriel checks himself on a regular basis. He has to. It’s frankly amazing how money influences the way you think, and he has to repeat, ad infinitum, _not everyone thinks like me because not everyone_ can _think like me_.

Being perfect isn’t the point. It’s about knowing what’s allotted to him, and knowing the absurdity of wealth when he uses it.

Like telling his little brother he should have called on a private service when, really, the dinky grimy car shop in the downtown was fine and dandy. That is absurd. And, in fact, might have prevented one heck of a romantic chapter in his baby brother’s life. Which is precisely why you can’t just fall back unquestioningly on privilege, because not only do you make a dick of yourself… you might just miss out on something _fab_.

\--

Four months after Castiel meets Dean, three months after the two of them started meeting up on suspiciously date-shaped rendezvous, and half a month before Gabriel gets bitch-slapped by fate—around _that_ time, he meets up with his brother for their weekly jog, and as they walk through the cool-down, Cas tells him, “I think I’ve made a mistake.”

“Yeah?”

“Dean has expressed interest in me as a… romantic partner.”

“Uh-huh.”

“But he has a boyfriend.”

Gabriel’s brow furrows thoughtfully. “Slight complication,” he agrees, “but that doesn’t preclude the possibility of, well, anything. Does the boyfriend know about Dean and the heart-eyes he’s got for you?”

“Presumably. _Yes_ ,” Castiel says, correcting himself. “But I do not know if that changes anything.”

“If the boyfriend knows about you, you know about the boyfriend, and everyone agrees to the terms—there really shouldn’t be any problem. Apart from, you know, the usual kind of couples’ spats, those kinds of problems are fine, but—Cassie.”

Gabriel stops mid-step, lifts his brows and waits. Cas stops with him but does not meet his eyes—working out his thoughts, then.

“Cas,” Gabriel says, “it’s up to you, if you’re comfortable being with a guy who’s, y’know, with a guy. But hey, kudos to him being up-front about the whole thing. That’s what you want, okay, for him to be up front. And you need to be as up-front as you can. If you know you can’t do it, say no. If you want to give it a shot, tell him how you want it to work, and what you need to _make_ it work.”

“Honesty,” Cas says, quietly. “I want honesty.”

“So you make it clear, you’re honest with each other.”

“Transparency,” Cas adds after a moment’s thought.

“Then you tell him he needs to tell you how things stand, between all of you, and anyone else, if anyone else does get involved—if you’re okay with anyone else getting involved. Which, whew, whole new set of questions, there, you’d have to talk it out.”

“And I want to know his boyfriend,” Cas says, finally meeting Gabriel’s eyes. “Properly. I have heard of him, but I want to meet him.”

Gabriel smiles and resists cracking a joke about biblical knowing. “Then you tell Mr. Dean that you want to meet his boyfriend.”

Cas blinks at Gabriel, then looks away with consternation playing out over his brows.

“Hey,” Gabriel reminds him, “whatever does it for you, kiddo. Whatever makes you comfortable. You don’t have to go for it. And if you do decide to give the whole deal a whirl…”

“Whatever makes me comfortable,” Cas repeats, and nods.

Gabriel beams. They’re close enough, the two of them, that Gabriel could get away giving him an affectionate push, shoulder-to-shoulder. But it’s a delicate moment, and not an easy situation. Things like _values_ and _tradition_ and _image_ always weighed more heavily on Cas than on Gabe, and it’s wearing on him, it’s obvious. Gabriel could initiate touch, but he doesn’t.

He shrugs his shoulder into the empty air and, catching onto the invitation, Castiel shoves him gently back. Doesn’t even sway him, but it makes contact.

Out of something a little like pride, Gabriel throws his head back and _laughs_.

\--

Four days later, completely straight-faced, Cas informs Gabriel that he is now in a polyamorous relationship with Dean Winchester and a gentleman named Benny Lafitte. Benny, apparently, owns a restaurant and makes amazing food, and once that was explicitly established, everything relaxed and now all is working out smoothly.

Gabriel doesn’t have the first clue what the heck the cooking has to do with it, but his shy, fretful, and very asexual baby brother is now in a gay poly relationship, so—heck if he’s going to squint too hard.

\--

Maybe you will recall, somewhere in all this, a mention of Fate coming in with her ironic hands and delivering a healthy dose of whoopass.

Because Gabriel thinks it is nothing more than being nice, and missing his baby brother, that he drives up to the house that Dean Winchester shares with other romantic partner and restaurateur Benny Lafitte. He honestly thinks that it’s nothing more than niceties and familial affection and dropping his brother off for his latest date, and that karma hasn’t got any reason to stick their fingers in and muck around.

Gabriel cuts the ignition, spreads his hands on the wheel, and demonstratively whines, “I never see you anymore.”

Cas’ concern amounts to zilch; he knows dramatics when he sees them. “We run together every week, Gabriel.”

“You’ll banish me from your life, soon.” Gabriel throws a pout across his shoulder.

“Gabriel,” Cas admonishes.

“No time for your big brother who loves you so much, no-o, you’ll be too busy snuggling your boyfriend. Happily. _Blissfully_. You’ll be fine, you’ll forget all about me, you’ll plow on with a happy smile while I wither away and _die_.”

“For heaven’s sake…”

“ _Alone_.”

“You are being ridiculous.”

Gabriel chuckles inwardly. “Yeah,” he says, nodding, and not quite looking at Cas, “I know.”

That changes the terrain a little. Castiel looks at the house, then at Gabriel, and then opens up the passenger’s side door. “You should meet Dean again,” he says.

“Cas,” Gabriel says, starting to laugh. “Cassie, I was kidding—”

“And you haven’t met Benny, yet. You should meet him, too. He hasn’t met any of my siblings, and you only met Dean the once. We can work on making a better impression, this time.”

“I thought the first impression went pretty darn well,” Gabriel says, pocketing his keys and slamming the door behind him as he climbs out. “The guy _did_ start dating you. I’d say you don’t get much better a first impression than that.”

“Come on,” Cas says. Eyes focused in, target locked, pace forward-set and steady—yeah, he was on a mission. No turning back now. Gabriel shakes his head fondly, sighs, and follows.

It is a cute little place, modest digs, off-white bungalow with the trim done in a muted, dusty blue. Nice wide porch with the light left on—expecting company, makes sense—low-maintenance garden. It looked open, sunny (in the right weather and time of day, say, when it wasn’t six o’clock at night), vaguely French. Must have been the other guy’s idea, Gabriel thinks—the whole thing didn’t seem very Mr. Dean.

Castiel stops at the porch, knocks, and spares a glance back at the street. “Oh,” he says. “Sam is here.”

“Third boyfriend?” Gabriel asks with a twinkle in his eye.

“No,” Castiel says, which is as far as he gets before a medium-height burly-looking man opens the door, and grins a grin that looks unnervingly similar to a smirk.

“Cas,” he says, “You know, we _were_ expectin’ you, and the door’s unlocked. You don’t need permission to come in.”

One part French to three parts bayou drawl; he screams Baton Rouge and New Orleans. Definitely _his_ house, and definitely not a native to this city, then. Gabriel grins back as Castiel replies, “I brought company.”

“It’s me that needs permission,” Gabriel interjects, “but hey, only for as long as it takes to drop my baby brother off and meet the crew. You must be Benny.”

“Must I be, huh.” He reaches out to shake, and Gabriel halfway dodges around Cas to meet him. “And which of the siblings might you be?”

“The fun one.”

“This is Gabriel,” Cas says. “May he come in as well?”

“Family of family is family, Cas,” Benny says, and waves Gabriel inside. In a rather purposeful show of good etiquette, he wipes his utterly un-muddied shoes on the welcome mat and slips in after his brother.

The inside reflects the sensibilities of the outside—clean, understated, not overly colorful. He kept his ceilings white. Smart man; it opened up the place. Gabriel makes a mental note to find the restaurant the guy owns, to see if he had as good of sense in dressing his serving space. And to see if he has an equally good sense about what he puts on the plates.

Gabriel lingers in the doorway as Castiel makes a beeline for Dean’s turned back. Until this point it seems Dean had been busy talking to a floppy-haired kid who, despite all kinds of too-long limbs, managed to keep himself well contained in a corner of the couch. _Sam_ , Gabriel’s mind helpfully suggested. The two were obviously pretty deep into it, because Cas is able to come up right behind Dean, practically breathing down his neck, before he finally announces, “Hello, Dean.” He makes the man jump half a foot in the air.

From the way Benny crosses his arms and smirks, Gabriel can guess that this is the standard fare for this household.

“Shit, Cas,” Dean hisses, “swear to god, it’s like you come out of nowhere.”

“I came from work,” he replies. “Gabriel dropped me off.”

“Gab—” Dean’s eyes focus past Cas’ and lock on Gabriel, who waves.

“Hello again, Mr. Dean.” Gabriel steps forward, coming in close on the couch. “Remember me? Cassie’s handsome brother? I was there at the garage when you two met.”

Dean’s face does a little something funny when he hears the nickname, like he wants to be indignant and can only manage some faint confusion. Shortly afterwards his eyes light up with cold recognition. “Right, right—the asshole who thought I didn’t know my shit.”

“Asked if you _did_ know, actually,” Gabriel says, and smiles. “If it helps, it wasn’t rhetorical. I really did want an answer. And boy, did you know what you were doing! I gave you five stars on Yelp.”

“Right.” Dean really looks like he doesn’t know what to do with this information. But at that moment, the kid stands up from the couch, and _jeez_ he’s tall. He towers a good four inches over Dean, who is easily the next-tallest guy in the room, and compared to Gabriel the dude’s a regular goliath. Gabriel barely has a moment to register the height on this guy before he’s ducking around Dean, leaning forward and half-hunching to do so, and—

Jesus H. Christ, but he looks _really familiar_.

“Hey,” he says, with one hand extended. Damage control, Gabriel thinks distantly. His re-introduction to Dean is precisely as stilted and weird as anyone would expect it to be, and someone has to pick up the slack to make this an amicable occasion all over again. “Nice to meet you. I’m Sam, I’m Dean’s brother.”

Gabriel takes his hand, but he’s frowning all the while. At least, he is until Sam gets his mouth around the humming consonant at the end of his own name, and then he says, “Holy Toledo—moose kid!”

“Sorry?” Sam’s eyebrows start to knit up. “Do I—?”

“Campus quad, at the law school,” he supplies, shoving a hand into his back pocket. “I was the weirdo who asked for a selfie.”

“ _Yes_ ,” he says, and his voice actually deepens by a note or two when he has a revelation, fancy that. “Holy crap. _Hi_. Do you—”

“—still have the photo,” Gabriel sing-songs, not having any clue if that was how Sam was going to finish his sentence. He slides through to the picture and holds it up for Sam to see.

It’s not that Gabriel has forgotten that there’s a crowd, but he is still faintly surprised when Dean steps up like he’s ready to throw his body between them. He lifts one finger and waves it back and forth, from Sam, to Gabriel, and back again. “Whoa, hold up—you two know each other?”

“Yeah, he uh—he asked for my picture,” Sam says a little distantly, tilting his head back to get the right angle, looking at the screen. He laughs. “That’s right. God, I didn’t even recognize you without the suit.”

Sure enough, it was casual Friday in the office today, and Gabriel had forgone the suit in favor of clean dark jeans and a button down of almost-brown-burgundy red. Khaki green canvas jacket thrown overtop and yeah, that wasn’t a surprise—

“He asked you for a picture _why_?” Dean asks, looking three kinds of incredulous. Sam looks at Gabriel and he clears his throat while Gabriel does his best _not_ to grin shamelessly.

“’Cause I’m cute?” he offers.

Cas looks at Gabriel with the facial equivalent of “Oh, no. You _didn’t_.” Dean looks at his little brother blankly, and Benny seems to be smothering his laughter something fierce. Meanwhile, Gabriel stands there and thinks, sheesh, I’m surrounded by Captain, Corporal, and Deputy Oblivious, did you not _hear_ the way the guy just said _because I’m cute_? Like he came within two inches of saying “apparently” instead? Like he wants to be defensive, like he’s wishing this point should be obvious, like “cute” is a round peg he’s trying to fit seamlessly inside that rectilinear frame of his…? Case and point, this kid is _friggin’ cute_ , were you all not paying attention?

Granted, then Benny interrupts his thoughts and says, simply, “Well, now.” _Says_ , though _smirks_ would be a comparable description. Perhaps it’s the drawl but Gabriel is positive that, if you were going to make a smirk audible, it would sound exactly like Benny just now. But hey, it’s mediation, and even Gabriel can see that they’re in dire need of it, and stat.

Playing along, Gabriel shrugs. “Just a thing I do, snapping pictures.” He winks. Sam straightens and Gabriel returns his phone to his pocket. “But hey… Cool as serendipity is, like I said, I really was just swinging by to drop off Castiel, here. I should skedaddle. You all take care. Dean, s’good to see you again.” He reaches out his hand, smiles, and Dean frowns and shakes his hand back. That done, Gabriel turns and spares a wave back the way he came. “Benny, nice to meet you, Cas, you give me a call if anything comes up, and, ah—I’ll catch you later gators.”

Cas reaches out for him, puts a hand on his arm, murmurs a thank you for the ride, and that’s just long enough to distract Gabriel so that, as he’s turning back for the door, he catches sight of Sam grabbing for his laptop.

“Yeah,” he says, “I should probably head out, too, actually. No offense, but um—don’t think I’ll be getting any work done between the three of you.”

“Sam—”

“Dean. It’s fine,” Sam says. “I’ll see you around. Cas, good to see you. Thanks for dinner, Benny, was _great_.”

He makes the rounds saying his goodbyes, and Gabriel can’t help but watch approvingly, if just for a second or two. _Cute kid_ , Gabriel’s mind reminds him, unbidden, and then goes on to inform him, _cute kid who is making an excuse to leave at the same time that you are, that could maybe possibly be construed as a thing_.

He smirks to himself. Whew, Gabriel. Down, boy.

“Text me when you get home,” Dean says, stepping in to pull Sam into a tight hug. Gabriel pushes past; he has already overstayed the touchy-feely goodbye moment. He prides himself on many things in this world, and exciting entrances and timely exits rank high among them. He passes a friendly nod to Benny as he gets through the doorway, and the Benny returns it. Gabriel suspects he just passed some kind of test and really, he’s not going to complain.

He means to get out first, and does, but the kid’s got some legs on him, and the whole household has wound up following them to the door—which means that everyone gets to the porch at about the same time, and he and Sam are all waving to the same people, and going down the same steps. At that point, a guy can’t help but _try_.

“Well,” Gabriel says at the bottom of the steps, “now I can’t delete that picture. Good timing, too—another month and it’d be gone forever.”

“Man, _weird_ coincidence,” Sam replies. “And—Gabriel, right?”

“The one, the only.”

“Yeah. Really cool. Really nice to meet you. You know, kind of more properly, this time—”

“— _shit_!”

Sam and Gabriel blink at each other, then turn back to the house. The door is slowly closing in on the three remaining occupants, and on the sight of Dean falling into Benny after finding himself suddenly nose-to-nose with Castiel.

“Dammit, Cas,” they hear Dean say, “get out of my ass!”

“I was not…” Cas says, and Benny _roars_ out a laugh, and then the door closes and cuts off any continuation of the conversation.

Sam and Gabriel look at each other again. Gabriel waggles his eyebrows. Sam busts up laughing, and nearly smacks Gabriel head-to-head when he doubles over.

“Sorry,” he chokes out. “Oh, man, I’m never gonna un-hear that.”

Gabriel, safely backed up half a step, nods back to the house. “Cassie has an interesting relationship to personal space,” he explains.

“Yeah, no kidding,” Sam breathlessly agrees. “Seems like a cool enough guy, though, from the times we’ve talked.”

“Oh, he’s cool,” Gabriel promises. “Of course, I’m pretty cool, too.”

“I do _not_ doubt it,” Sam replies, in a slightly skeptical playing-along-with-it tone which Gabriel does not find particularly encouraging. “Jeez—sorry, I’m keeping you.”

Gabriel waves a hand. “No problem,” he says. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

“Our brothers are dating, it’s not a huge stretch.” Sam reaches out his hand again. Gabriel, feeling weirdly smug about it, takes his hand and shakes again. “Good to meet you. Properly,” Sam says. “Take care.”

“Yeah—see you, moose,” Gabriel says.

“Moose?”

“Moose kid. You miss that the first time? I’m warning you, it’s that or gigantor. Or—ooh, sasquatch?” Gabriel lifts his brows and snaps his fingers. “ _Sam_ squatch,” he announces, deadpan and victorious.

Sam laughs, rolling his eyes good naturedly. He lifts a hand and makes his escape with a tactful, “Right, _later_ , man.”

Sam turns around, half-laughing and half-waving, and heads towards where his car is parked up the drive. Gabriel calls a “Drive safe!” after him, and turns back with a grin plastered on his face. And it is not so much that he watches Sam go as he just… spares a glance or two over his shoulder as he makes his way down to the curb. Make sure the kid makes it safe inside and all, checking up and, sure, checking out a little, so long as his butt is so conveniently in his line of site. A chirp signals his car waking up; Gabriel clambers into the driver’s seat, sets his hands on the wheel, and snickers.

“ _Samsquatch_ ,” he says. “God, I’m good.”

Chuckling, he revs up his engine and checks his rearview. It seems Sam is waiting on him, so he pulls out first. Backs out from behind the car in front of him and makes a point to honk, waving as if the kid might actually see.

And then, simple as that, Gabriel turns into the street and drives himself back home.

\--

Perhaps it’s obvious, but when the time comes to cull out the old photos from his phone, Moose Kid’s photo stays. “Sam,” Gabriel reminds himself. The kid’s name is _Sam_. “Sam” he mouths at his phone, connecting face to name, before he locks the cell and slips it back into his pocket.

That is the weekend. Then, he doesn’t think about Winchesters for a while, thrown as he is into the daily bump and grind—okay, maybe just the grind—of business.

\--

Here’s another thing: Gabriel went to business school after snagging a B.A. in politics. At a public university, just like he did for undergrad.

And then he went on to start a company in advertising and support, which worked exclusively with small businesses and employee-friendly companies. Expanding local networks, allowing for higher employee retention and hiring, better benefits, opportunities for people looking to make it. Breaking down monopolies.

It’s a hit. His business, it’s crackerjack. It helps people, and frankly, he gets a little vindictive thrill when he thinks about _evening out the playground_. Call him an equal opportunist, but the more people who have the ability to rightfully show him up and kick his ass, the more satisfied he feels about walking day to day without a scratch on him. And the business makes a pretty penny even without the family support, allowances and inheritances. Which, you know, wasn’t the goal, but also isn’t exactly _terrible_.

\--

(Actually, there is an itty bitty part of Gabriel that is dying to do something—or, more accurately, be caught doing something—so utterly unforgivable by the standards of his family, that they will disown him, cut him out of his inheritance, or both.

That way, he can tell them, “Oh, no, my plans to retroactively retire by twenty five are _ruined_! I might even have to _work_ until I’m fifty! Whatever will I _do_?”

He can only hope they’ll hear how flipping _ridiculous_ it sounds, and realize that the reason it sounds ridiculous is because—wow!—it _is_.)

\--

All of this is a long-winded way of saying, Gabriel has two cell phones. One, he uses like any man uses his phone, to make calls and text people. The other one, he calls his happy cam. That’s the one he uses to take selfies with good-lookers, and really tasty desserts.

That one, he’s got under lock and key. Easy to get the wrong idea about a guy with dozens of pics of cuties on his phone.

\--

 _And_ cake, right. Can’t forget the cake.

\--

Anyway—true to form and because, just like Sam said, their brothers _are_ dating—Gabriel does see Sam around. In passing, anyway. Long enough to crack a joke—

(“Heya, Samsquatch,” Gabriel says.

Without looking up from his laptop, Sam replied, “Hey, shorty.”

And, because Gabriel is off work and his mental filter can be used on more important subjects, he sings under his breath, “—had them apple-bottom jean-jeans, boots with the fur…”

And Sam doesn’t actually say anything in reply, but his lips go through the motions of echoing _with the fur_. Gabriel says something vaguely like a long, drawn-out “ _ay_ ” and Sam fights a snicker and shoots back, “Shut up, I have a test this week.”

It’s only as Gabriel is heading out the door, having been made to stay for ten minutes by Cas who insisted that everyone stay, talk, and chit-chat—only as Gabriel is leaving does he linger in the doorway, whisper, “ _Flo-rida_ ,” and exits, with the sound of Sam’s snort seeing him smugly off.)

—long enough, sure, to toss out a wave—

(“I think Dean’s worried that him having two boyfriends is weird,” Sam confides as they walk out, once more, to their cars. “For me, I mean, I think he’s worried that _I_ think it’s weird.”

Gabriel sucks his teeth. “Is that why he acts like you’ll fall off the earth when you leave the house?”

“I think so, anyway. I guess he thinks I’m making a getaway. Which, I mean, I am, but…” A smirk tugs at his lips. “It’s definitely more about getting away from the _looks_. I swear, he looks at Cas like he’s gonna melt, and then he looks at Benny and I wonder if there is a single safe surface in that place to sit on.”

“And by safe you mean—”

“Unsullied.”

Gabriel puts a hand to his chest. “SAT vocab in casual conversation? Careful, you’ll win my heart before you even start trying.” Then, before Sam can make a comeback to that, he adds, “You want my opinion?”

“Oh God—”

“Not a single dang surface in that house, horizontal _or_ vertical, has gone without seeing some action.”

“Oh, _God_ ,” Sam laughs, wiping a freakishly large hand across his face. He shrugs his coat tighter around him. “Oh, man, I am going to need the rest of the week to clean that out of my head,” he says, and breaks away towards his car.

“I recommend brain bleach!” Gabriel calls after him.

“You suck!” Sam shouts back, tone riddled with amusement and good nature—the last thing he says before he climbs into his car and shuts the door.)

—and head one or the other off on their merry way.

So yeah, it’s not a full-length feature, and no one’s expecting Ibsen or Shakespeare to pop out of the woodwork and transcribe their conversation. It’s honestly just not a lot to go off of.

…and yet, somehow, the third time they cross paths, it happens. Gabriel pulls the usual token crack, Sam tips his head back and laughs, they’re on their way to their respective cars, it’s a chilly night going down the steps and yet, when Sam waves to him from the drive, Gabriel feels his neck go a little warm.

 _Oh_ , he thinks, _crap_.

\--

All those snippets of honest-to-God interaction are not only little to go off of, they’re not even consistent. A grand total maybe two hours cumulative conversation is strewn out over a couple of weeks, with no guarantee that Sam Winchester will so happen to be at the house when Gabriel also so happens to swing by. It’s hit or miss and frankly it’s agonizing.

To make matters worse, Gabriel has officially deleted two batches of pictures off his happy cam. Sam’s picture is still there. This despite the fact that his gaydar is pretty stellar, and the younger Mr. Winchester is definitely pinging on the side of “snowball’s chance in hell.”

As Vonnegut once wrote, about the death of people, flies, beer and hope, _so it goes_.

\--

“I said some time ago that I wanted you to try Benny’s cooking,” Cas informs him.

“Sheesh,” Gabriel pants out, “Could you wait until the cool-down, kiddo? My lung’s’re killin’ me, here.”

Unfazed, damn him and his long legs, Castiel continues, “I mentioned it to Benny and Dean, and they thought it was a good idea. So we have all invited you to dinner. This weekend, if you can make it.”

“Sure, I’ll just check my schedule _mid-run_ , huh?”

“There’s no need for that prompt a reply, we can wait a day or two to hear back. Benny has offered to cook for us all. I’ve mentioned before, he is a very talented chef. I doubt you will be disappointed.”

Gabriel makes a grab for his arm. “Cassie,” he huffs, “hold up, stop talking for a minute. Please. I hate it when people talk and I can’t reply, it drives me nuts.”

Dear that he is, Castiel waits patiently as Gabriel hunches over, hands on his knees, and catches his breath. Finally, when he stands straight again, Castiel says, “We shouldn’t stop. It will give us cramps.”

“What did I say about waiting ‘til the cool down?” Gabriel quips. But they are walking slowly now, and after a breath or two more, he says, “Yeah, sure.”

“Hm?”

“Yeah, sure. Screw schedule-checking, I don’t think I have anything going this weekend. If I do, well—unspoken law of the universe, baby brothers come before everything short of crisis and emergencies. So yeah—count me in, I’ll be there. Is it dinner or a party?”

Castiel’s brows furrow. “Just dinner.”

“Right,” Gabriel nods. “I’ll bring cards, then.”

\--

Sure enough, Gabriel shows up at Dean and Benny’s house with his little brother in tow at six o’clock on that Saturday evening. And it’s great, because Gabriel hasn’t seen Cassie this relaxed around people since… possibly forever. He’s rubbing rhythmic circles in the cuff of his trench coat, he isn’t forcing eye contact, he’s moving between Dean and Benny with comfortable ease—God, he’s _happy_.

And that would be quite enough to make the night, even if Benny’s cooking turned up less than what it’s been made out to be. Which, for the record, he knows it won’t from the second he walks in the door, gets hit with the savory smell of coq au vin, and sees Benny place a full-up tray in the oven.

“Is that—?” Gabriel points.

“Choux à la crème,” Benny confirms.

Gabriel makes a face that should be, but isn’t, accompanied by a whimper. He draws a circle in the air with one finger. “Are you married to the idea of dating Dean, or could I steal you every now and again? Weekends maybe—?”

“Excuse you,” Dean interrupts. “Did you know he works weekends half the time? I don’t get him to myself half as much as I want, like hell I’m letting you take him.”

“Dean,” Cas says.

It isn’t a warning. It doesn’t even mean anything. Gabriel fights a smirk as Cas steps up close to Dean, and hovers inches from him, and takes note of that soppy look that Sam mentioned weeks back. And—yup. Yup, there it is.

It’s probably weird and sentimental, but Gabriel is so happy for Cassie he feels like he could pop.

And that particular brand of joy lasts for approximately twelve seconds, until a fifth body enters the picture. “Hey, guys,” Sam says, and grins. Gabriel grins back.

“Hey, Moose.”

“Hey, Shorty.”

“Get a room, ladies,” Dean says, earning a shove from Sam.

At the same moment, Benny grumbles, “Too many people in my kitchen. _Out_.”

Dean and Cas are the first to flee—there’s got to be a story to that, Gabriel thinks—with Sam trailing after, still rolling his eyes. Gabriel stops in the doorway, safe out of the kitchen but still in a good place for everyone to hear.

“So,” Gabriel says, turning his focus back to the group. He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a little black box. “I’ve got a great question. Everyone here know how to play Cards Against Humanity?”

“Dinner first,” Benny says, and wisely, no one argues.

Dinner is, suffice to say, _excellent_. Gabriel’s eyes roll back into his head with the first forkful. Cas whispers, “I told you so,” Dean says, “Right?” and Benny looks so damn smug that Gabriel is horribly, horribly tempted to make compromising noises with the next bite. He doesn’t; he just makes a hyperbolic, ecstatic face, and Sam quietly snorts across the table.

Cas and Sam volunteer for dish duty, so Gabriel and Dean take the time to explain Cards Against Humanity to Benny, who is apparently the only one in the room who hasn’t played. Chores done, they migrate to the living room with a deck of cards and three plates of cream puffs (the eating of which does, this time, pull a compromising sound out of Gabriel’s throat) and they play a few hands.

The game gets dirty faster than a house standing in the direct path of a super-sonic mudslide. It’s beautiful: Benny catches on quick and wins three rounds in a row, Dean predictably plays well, Cas is faintly scandalized by some of the options, but hey, so it goes. Gabriel plays like he always does, which is to say, unpredictably. Sometimes sexy, sometimes just silly, and really, much more for his own entertainment than for getting black cards.

Sam is a bit of a surprise. He’s good. Hell, they all are, but he’s got a sense of humor that seems to rely more on wit and references than on pure inappropriate shock value.

Well—it does until Gabriel is judging for the black card “This is the way the world ends/Not with a bang, but…” and Sam, as it turns out, puts down “A bigger, blacker dick.”

Gabriel _howls_ and, privately, he’s really damn pleased. He has never had someone play “A bigger, blacker dick” well, it’s too tricky a card, easily slips over the line from hilariously inappropriate to needlessly vulgar, and… yeah. Sam wins that round without a second’s hesitation, and Gabriel is _impressed_.

So much so that when Gabriel feels his welcome wearing out, he asks Cas where they keep the pens, grabs a sharpie, and writes his name and number on the card. After that he makes his goodbyes.

“The boys are having a moment,” Gabriel announces when he finds Sam in the kitchen doorway, just by the foyer.

“Something like,” Sam says. Gabriel shucks his coat from the hook by the door and shrugs it on. “I mean, it’s been at least three hours since Dean kissed Benny, and he needs to get on that before he explodes.”

“And Cas is going to melt if he doesn’t get a good romantic staring contest in with Dean before the night’s out.”

“Sounds right,” Sam says. “Hey, thanks for bringing the cards, by the way. It was a great idea.”

“You have fun?” Gabriel smiles encouragingly, then flourishes A Bigger, Blacker Dick. “Which reminds me. Fun fact about this card, I’ve never seen it win a round. It’s a hard one to play, pun only a little bit intended. And to be quite honest, my standard is now ruined, no one is ever going to play this card as well as you did tonight, so… here. I want you to have it.”

“Um,” Sam says, and takes it. “Wow, uh—thanks?”

“You can have it framed,” Gabriel teases.

“Yeah, sure,” Sam says. He’s chuckling about it even as Gabriel watches his eyes settle across the phone number. Sam’s lip starts to tuck under his teeth. “Look,” he says, and Gabriel’s every suspicion coalesces into absolute certainty. “If this is a proposition or something, I’m—”

“Straight,” Gabriel finishes. “Right?” He lifts his brows and doesn’t wait for Sam’s reply; the relief in his eyes says everything. “Look, Sam,” and it’s not the first time he’s used Sam’s name, but it’s still funny, given how often he calls him something else, how natural his name sounds on his mouth. “You’re cute. Obviously. I’ve said as much. But despite my lady-killer suavity and my immense charms—” Sam’s snickering, and Gabriel relaxes, “—I can actually have friends. Just friends. You’re a cool guy, and it sucks that I only ever see you when both our brothers happen to drag us along.” Gabriel lifts a finger and taps the card in Sam’s hands. “You want someone to hang with, you call. We’ll hang. Okay?”

Sam takes a breath and nods. “Yeah. Sure thing.”

“Good.” Gabriel smiles. “I’m heading out. Already said my goodbyes and I really don’t want to be here when all the sexy, soppy looks start happening. Take care of yourself, okay?”

“Whatever you say, short stack,” Sam says.

Gabriel doesn’t even try to make a comeback; he laughs, shaking his head, and takes his leave.

\--

He wakes up the next morning deliciously well-rested, and with one new text.

 _Hey, it’s Sam._ is all it reads.

Gabriel adds his number, looks at his clock, decides that seven thirty on a Sunday is way too early to be awake, and promptly goes back to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elli has been instrumental in enabling me. We've plotted this AU together, brainstormed the fic together, and now we are basically writing it together.
> 
> This fic is brought to you by a lot of flailing.


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